


The fantasia of the fantoma

by Sailorsenshiringo



Series: Haunting Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Ghosts, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:18:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorsenshiringo/pseuds/Sailorsenshiringo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor John Watson died in Afghanistan, and is stuck in purgatory. Given two choices, reincarnation, or going back to earth. He chooses the latter, only to meet a mediator named Mrs. Hudson. This is the story about how he gains his body, life, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death and purgatory

I died, being valiant and all that. I stepped in front of a bullet, not the smartest of ideas, but he was my commanding officer and he had more too live for than I did. My name is John Hamish Watson, Doctor John Watson, and here I am stuck next to a tall gray haired man. He had a bullet hole in the back of his head.

"What you in for?" I attempted to do something, in this case, talking to the man.

"Saved a git, genius, but a git nonetheless." He tilted his head with a face that said "nothing I could do".

"Same, well, besides the git and genius bit." I moved my dog tags that laid over my heart and wound.

He nodded, "What war?"

"Afghanistan." I looked at the hole, and thought about how I lost any future hope of love.

A blonde receptionist, who was an angel, called my name. I followed her into a room with two doors.

"I'm Mary, your afterlife specialist."

She was good looking, and I regret what I said. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"I'm still in heaven last time I checked Doctor Watson, but I will ask my lover when I see HER again." I cringed and looked at the two doors that were in front of me. "The one to our left leads to a reincarnation, and the other goes to earth."

"So I can go back?" I asked hope filled my chest.

"Yes, absolutely, John." She had a slick smile on her face.

"No question then," I stepped towards the right, "earth bound."

I opened the door, looking back at Mary, too bad she had someone. I walked through the frame, as Mary said, "your medium's name is Martha Hudson."


	2. Mrs. Hudson's Case

I fell right into a middle class flat. There a middle aged woman sat drinking her tea. 

"Hello dear, are you my new ward?" She asked, not at all freaked out about a random man in her sitting room.

"Are you Martha Hudson?" I asked looking at how she looked down. 

"Yes, what's your name? I like getting to know my wards more personally than other mediums."

I blinked. Mary said she was my medium, but.... "Wait," I said, "If you're a medium that makes me...."

"A ghost, dear." She stated frankly.

"I-" I tried too put it in words. "A GHOST?!" I was the most rational man when I was alive, even considering this was difficult, and I had all of the facts in front of me.

"Yes dear, gui, fantoma, spectre, whichever language you use, it all means the same." She looked at me, "So, did you come back to tell so someone something?"

"No, my sister has probably nursed her grief with a bottle of alcohol. She is useless when she gets in too the bottles, and my mum would just say "I told you so.""

"No girlfriends?" Mrs. Hudson looked me over.

"There was a few nice girls before my deployment, but none lasted too long." I shrugged, their loss.

"Boyfriends?" Mrs. Hudson pried. 

My only response was "I'm not gay."

She gave a knowing smile, "You John Watson are a man that is quite picky."

I looked down, "I just wanted that one connection when I was alive."

Martha Hudson looked at the wall where the clock rested. "Oh my! John, we're expecting someone, so please don't go anywhere!" Then a solid knock came from the front door. 

"Hello, you must be Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson's cheery voice came from the main hall. 

"Martha Hudson I presume?" A deep voice that shook John too the core said.

"Why yes, that's me, do come in now." She ushered him in. And if I were a living man, the air in my lungs would have quickly left my body. This wasn't just a man of no consequence. He stormed the room like it was Normandy, France, and his overall anatomy, was perfect. 

"So you wish for your husband to get the death penalty, and be executed. He killed someone you knew, but you found out in an unusual way. So psychic, or did you find the body?"

I looked at Sherlock, unable to speak, except for the word astounding. Mrs. Hudson heard me and nodded in agreement.

"Psychic." She replied. "I can see the spirits of the dead."

Sherlock didn't flinch, or claim that she was insane. Instead he then thought it over. "Do you have any training formally with your talent?" He tilted his head, and I about died again. He was a beautiful person, and I wished that I had met him sooner.

"Just certification for an agency." She said, pulling out the documents.

Sherlock grabbed them, and handed them back. "Thank you, I have everything I need. Now I must be going, I have a funeral to attend."

"My condolences, for whom may I ask?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"The man that saved my life." With that said Sherlock swept out of the room, and the flat.

Mrs. Hudson waited until Sherlock was gone then said "You sometimes only meet the one for you once. Go use the cover of being a ghost and make sure he's the one for you." With that said, I was out following him within five minutes.  



	3. Funeral For A Friend

Sherlock caught a cab, and I went through the door in order to have some experience as a ghost.

The man that held every ounce of my attention seemed out of sorts. He kept muttering something about it being all his fault, and something about stupid Morarity. I couldn't follow his mutterings, but found them charming. 

Was it even possible to fall for someone this fast?

We arrived at a small church, one of those newer types that plays religious rock music. Sherlock strode out of the taxi as if he owned the ground he walked upon. 

A woman looked at him and wrinkled her nose. "Why is the freak here?" She asked. I felt anger build up at this comment. 

"Why are you here? I would think that scrubbing floors took up too much of your time recently." 

He did not just..... I thought as Sherlock marched forth, and sat down. The funeral was closed casket and there was a standing photo of the man who died. I recognized him instantly. There was the man I sat next to in purgatory. He said he saved a genius git, and Sherlock said that this man saved him. All right then, I may be in love with a man that got saved by the first dead person I met before becoming a ghost. Maybe not love, but it was something. 

Sherlock sat quietly, hiding his tears, and I was the only one to see them. 

"We come together today to celebrate the life of Gregory Lestrade, and all the deeds he did while he lived amongst us." So the man's name was Greg, nice to know. The preacher went on, and then out was done, Sherlock looked as of he hadn't cried a single drop.

The woman who insulted him sat whispering something to a man she sat next to. "Doesn't even care, the freak probably came to see the body, too bad it was closed casket."

I pulled myself together, and tried not to go and harm the woman who insulted Sherlock. I unwillingly followed Sherlock, and he pulled a cab and we went to his home.


	4. Homeless Holmes

Sherlock got out of the cab as we pulled up into a posh estate. He walked confidently inside and yelled "I'm home Mycroft!"

Then a posh voice emitted from the parlor. "Caring isn't an advantage, I know you went to the Detective Inspector's funeral Sherlock."

"Go shove some cake down your throat Mycroft." Sherlock sneered.

Then the sound of footsteps got louder. A man, posh as expected from the voice, with auburn hair and an umbrella on his arm, entered the main hall. "Why do I put up with you Sherlock?"

"Because mummy told you to. And you never go against mummy's wishes." So they were brothers then.

"Except now. Sherlock, I'm a grown man. You have messes everywhere! And my help is diminishing due too the body parts they find in the refrigerator."

"Trouble in paradise then, dearest brother?" Sherlock laid on sarcasm heavily. "Go cry me a river then, and get over it." I snickered as I levitated between the two men that had no clue I was there.

"Sherlock, this is exactly why I'm doing this...." Mycroft said, voice becoming softer. "You have two days until you will not be welcomed here Sherlock Holmes." 

Sherlock scoffed. "You lie Mycroft."

"Really, brother? Has your "science of deduction" finally failed you? I believe I was perfectly clear, you are to find another situation within the next two days." 

Sherlock looked astounded, a face I was sure he rarely wore. Mycroft then turned and walked into another room, as I stood next to a man that was clearly distraught. Yet, here he stood, trying to hide it. I could not let this fragile man live on the streets. I needed help, and I knew just the woman for the job, and she happened to be my mediator.

I thought to myself "221a Baker Street" and I landed back in Mrs. Hudson's flat. 

"Ahh, that's where you got to, dear." She said calmly. "Was thinking about why you got sent back, I think you need to find your true love...."

I cut off her rambling, "Sherlock, the man who came over earlier, it's about to be put on the streets by his brother!" And I think he's the reason I needed tho come back, I added mentally.

"So you think that he could be..." Mrs. Hudson, a middle aged woman, giggled. "The one?"

I thought about out for all of three seconds. "Yes, but I'm not gay, just... made for Sherlock."

"Wouldn't doubt it for a second dear." She then looked at the phone. "I think I'll give him a ring, and tell him I have more information on my case, have him drop in tomorrow. Of course I'll have a nifty "for rent" sign on the upstairs flat." Martha Hudson gave a sly smile, and continued to plot. 

I watched as she picked up the phone, "hello? Is Sherlock there. Ah, hello dear, I have some more information on the case. Yes. Mhm, all right, could you stop by tomorrow? Perfect! See you then dear. Ok, bye bye!"

There you go John, I thought, this could work. "That's that then dear, I'm going to bed, but enjoy doing whatever you ghostly folks do at night.... have fun!"

I looked at my options, and decided to make some visits. And a very special one to a man I am starting to adore.


	5. The moonlight sonata

At first I thought of my sister. "Harriet Watson." I said to myself, and I was instantly in a bar, where my sister sat. Clara sat next to her.

"Clara, I can't stop. Johnny's dead, and I can't help but blame myself. If I was actually there for him when we were growing up!"

Clara patted Harry's back. "He loved you Harriet Watson, admired you more than you think. He would try and tell you to stop drowning your sorrows in a bottle."

Clara, you angel! I thought, and looked as Harry reached for the bottle again. No you don't, I thought, and the bottle moved away from her grasp. 

"Clare, you saw that right?" Harry looked towards her rock. 

"Yeah, I did...." Clara looked at the glass. 

"Johnny?" Harry asked quietly, trying not to look like she was going mad. "If that's you can you move it a bit farther away from me.... just to tell me I need to stop and go home with Clara." It came a little easier this time, I moved it a couple more inches away from my distraught sister. 

Clara looked at the glass bottle like it was God himself, or me risen from the dead. "Let's go Clara, John is looking over me, he believed, and still believes I can quit this shit." Harry had her eyes on the ceiling as she said this.

"Yeah," Clara gulped, "let's leave. And it's good to know Johnny's still on my side." They left, hand in hand.

I sighed, thanking whatever deity that granted me an outside second chance. Then I thought of Sherlock, and his older brother. "Mycroft Holmes' estate." I said, then was in the main hall again. I started towards the parlor when a woman with a blackberry sat in darkness spoke. 

"You're not my ward, so why did you come here?" She asked.

"Came to see Sherlock." I thought it was best to not lie to the medium that played on her phone.

"M'Kay, upstairs third door to your left." She said, but I kept looking at her, "bye then!" She said, and I followed her directions. Up on the second floor I heard Sherlock before I saw him. A sad, slow, familiar melody came from his room. I walked through the door, and was presented with a version of the man that he hid behind a facade. Then I realized that he was playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. I played clarinet through secondary and uni, and considered myself decent. But, I was nothing compared to Sherlock Holmes.

His tears fell onto the deep stain of the faceplate. Yet be played perfectly, as strictly trained as a soldier. I chuckled, the irony of how I died played through this man's emotional violin. And I had no clue how long we stayed like that. Sherlock playing a sad number, and me staring at him like a fool, like he was my personal chamber musician.

Eventually he coiled up into a protective ball on his bed, and fell asleep. I looked at how the world slipped off of his shoulders and his face returned the youthfulness of his soul. He was gorgeous. I watched him sleep, but noticed how he shivered, I then pulled a blanket around him, and took his violin and set it by his bed. I then whispered "221a Baker Street." Until tomorrow, my wonderfully complex man I thought.


	6. Tea and Tenants

I was back at Mrs. Hudson's flat, and I looked at the clock. 5:23 a.m. well, I could see what I could do with this new talent of moving things. I then decided to make tea for my amicable mediator. 

I sat and concentrated on opening the cabinets. Easily having each of them open for me. Next step was getting the tea cup down, and the kettle to the sink. The smaller objects seemed to give me more difficulty, but I managed to get them settled. Mrs. Hudson then walked in.

"You don't mess around when learning things do you?" She asked.

"Learning?" I smiled, "I moved a beer bottle away from my sister, now she may have the heart to stop drinking. And I.... um tucked Sherlock in for a good night's rest."

"Then, let's see you finish making the tea." She said, and I did just that.

As she tried the tea she smiled, "usually when a member of the spectre population attempts to fix any sort of digestible food, it tastes awful. Your tea happens to be the best cuppa I've ever tasted."

I didn't know if a ghost could blush, but if I were alive my face would have resembled a tomato in colour. "Thank you." I stuttered out.

"Well it's not everyday that I get a fantastic cuppa from one of my wards." She smiled, "now I'm going to put that sign out for our consulting detective, and then convince the dear boy to move in."

I nodded, missing the taste of my tea and jam in the morning. Then in no time Mrs. Hudson had Sherlock Holmes in a conversation about rent payments, and rules and regulations.

"Now, your first month will be wavered, just because you will be doing a wonderful favour for me." 

"Thank you again, Mrs. Hudson. I hope that you don't mind that I start moving my things in today?" Sherlock regained the gleam in his eyes.

"Not at all dear." She smiled as he got out of the door, almost running to the road yelling "taxi!"

"Well, John, looks like we have a new tenant." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"The perfect tenant." I replied.

"You may be biased in that remark, dear." She chuckled.


	7. organization and sock indexes

Sherlock wasted no time in gathering his belongings from Mycroft's estate. Within less than two hours Sherlock had moved the first boxes into the flat, and left again.

"He definitely enjoys leaving his mark on places." I said, looking at the mess of boxes and odds and ends. "It's a God awful mess in here!"

I then decided that I could lend a hand even though it really was my mind that would be doing the work. I opened up the boxes, and had the items placed around the room as I thought he would like them. The bookshelves became loaded with books, a skull rested on the mantle. Sherlock returned to the flat, and looked around. "Every-everything's where I would have put it." He stammered, looking upon his flat in disbelief. I smugly grinned. He needed someone to look after him, and in my own ghostly way I was going to. Sherlock's last few things included a sock index, which he spent almost two hours reorganizing. 

I watched as he placed his socks in perfect order, and then stuck them in a specified place in his drawer. I knew that he was relieved tho have found a place to go, but he still looked as if he was stepping on eggshells. "I play instruments in the middle of the night," he addressed the skull, "got thrown out of four flats because of that, shot the wall at the last flat, and instant eviction. Why am I telling you this? You were there when it all happened." Sherlock held the skull as if he was some modern-day Hamlet. I wished he could see or hear me because I smiled, and said, "None of it matters, just avoid looking like a Shakespearean protagonist."

Then I laughed, because he said, "I look like bloody Hamlet, holding you like this, Billy." The skull has a name, good to know I guess. 

I went back down to Mrs. Hudson's flat, where she sat reading. "How's he doing?" She asked, looking over, the book's cover. 

"Great, really, apparently he makes quite the racket at night with his violin and such, if that's alright."

"Oh, I bet he's wonderfully talented!" She smiled.

"You have no idea. He deserves to have a concerto written just for him." I smiled at how unhealthy my adoration for Sherlock was. Thanking myself, that I was already dead, and didn't have to worry about my health. 

"Now, John, I looked over options for you since we found your reason for coming back, and we have some options." She got up and plucked out a book.

"And my reason for coming back was Sherlock?" I looked at the book that was ancient. 

"Yes dear, and we can probably have him notice you by the end of the week. Then, he seems to be rather strong, so to him you may be as solid as a live person." She grabs at my arm, and it slides through, "see, I'm not that strong."

"All right, what do I need to do." I tried tho read the book but it was in some other language. 

"We have three choices, you move small things, and do things for him, until he notices you, a kiss at midnight on a full moon, and I could tell him, and have him learn to believe."

"The third choice isn't his style." I smiled, "But I think I'll go with option one, he's a scientist, he'll enjoy the puzzle."

"I'm sure he will dear." Mrs. Hudson said, and right then Sherlock bounded down the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson, thank you for unpacking my items, I have no clue how you knew where I would have put them." Sherlock's face showed almost physical pain in thanking her.

"Wasn't me, dear, not your housekeeper." She said as Sherlock looked confused. 

"But..." he pointed at the flat.

"I've heard we have a resident ghost, he must have taken a liking to you." She sent me a smile, and Sherlock stormed back upstairs. This was going to be interesting.


	8. tea for one

Sherlock looked around the flat again, after I had made him his third morning tea. He had already asked Mrs. Hudson if she made him tea and placed it on the counter before he woke up. Each time she reminded him that she was not his housekeeper. 

The consulting detective was at a loss of what to do, and I didn't know what to do either. Then Sherlock spoke, as he drank his tea, "this is the best cup of tea in all of London, and a ghost made it." 

I smiled, and started to talk as usual, because he couldn't hear me, "I doubt it, Sherlock." But, at that moment Sherlock jumped. 

"Ghost?" He sat ready to learn about me, and I gave an inner celebratory yell. 

"Sherlock? You can hear me?" I asked him.

"Yes, this is a new feeling." Sherlock said to the seemingly empty flat. "Just to make this easier to bear, where are you?"

I hovered/sat in the chair with the Union Jack pillow. "The chair with the pillow, I'm looking right at you Sherlock."

"All right, now what was your name?" Sherlock looked at the chair like it was a new puzzle.

"John Watson, since you probably want to know more, I was an army doctor and died defending my commanding officer." John watched Sherlock, and his eyes started to get wide.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked.

"Afghanistan," I looked at him again, "how do you....?"

"John, I can visibly see you now, you have blue eyes, sandy hair, and a bullet hole in your chest hidden by your dog tags, and you're still in uniform." Sherlock looked me over again.

"Well, this isn't how I wished to come home, but here I am anyways." I looked at  
Sherlock.

"I don't get it John, why me? Why haunt me?" 

"Because you're brilliant, and I enjoy learning about how you deduct every little thing." I watched him get up to look at me closer. 

"Do you mind if I..." Here reached his hands out as if to touch me. 

"No, here." I held my hand out to the man. His touch didn't go through my hands. Martha Hudson, was very perceptive about gifts, and right on the money. The result was a warmth that spread to my heart.

"Sherlock..." I leaned into his form, craving the warmth of life. 

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock went to take away his hands.

"No, please don't, I feel alive again with you touching me." I begged.

"John, this is interesting, why are you so solid, and how can I make you feel alive?" 

"We'll have to ask Mrs. Hudson, she knows more than I do." I told him, knowing that I have many questions for Martha Hudson.


	9. Talking it over

Sherlock then called for Mrs. Hudson. She rushed upstairs, and looked at him. "What is it Sherlock?"

"It's me Mrs. Hudson. He can see me." I stood looking at her.

"Well, then that means..... does he know, dear?" She asked me.

"Do I know WHAT?" Sherlock looked at the two of them attempting to deduct the situation.

"I chose the door to come back to earth in purgatory, Mrs. Hudson said it was because I needed to find what I didn't have in my living life." I looked to the medium. She nodded, making an affirmative noise. "I--- Sherlock, it's so confusing....."

"You think you returned for me?" Sherlock asked, shaking his head, "Mycroft doesn't even, no. No one can care about me John."

"Sherlock, I talked to my group, they said that their might be a way for you two, to be together.' Martha's words were a strong attempt to get the boy to see that i was MEANT for him.

Sherlock looked at the two of us. "I need to think, thank you Mrs. Hudson. John, stay, we need to sort things out."

"Where would I go?" I asked, in the back of my mind saying to myself, the only place for me is by you.

Sherlock then shut the door behind Mrs. Hudson, "I have no clue where you would go, probably stay by Mrs. Hudson because she's your medium."

I shrugged, as he took his position on the couch, fingers steepled in front of his face.

"You like danger, you were a form of doctor in the military, right?" Sherlock asked from.his position on the couch.

"Yes, I was an army doctor." I looked at the man, who had three nicotine patches on his arm. "And why three patches?"

Sherlock smirked, "It's a three patch problem."

"Of course it is." I said offhandedly.

"Glad you understand, now I would like to start experimentation on you tomorrow."

"Experimentation? Sherlock, that's a bit not good!" I looked at him, my untrustworthy alarms sounding loud in my head.

"The reason it's that you won't feel anything, you're not alive. Like the samples I use from the morgue." Sherlock said, his arrogance sent out in waves.

"I'm not just a dead body. Sherlock!" I felt my anger bubble in my chest.

"No," Sherlock sent a smile in my direction, "You're my ghost." Sherlock put emphasis on 'my' and then went back tho his meditative position.

"Yeah," I said still ticked, "it's not like I'm my own man or anything."

"John, Mrs. Hudson made it seem as if you were...." Sherlock looked at me and gave a sad look to me

"Well, I'm not gay...... just made for one person, and I feel like I need to discover that person to feel whole." I said looking him right in the eyes, avoiding the way he sat now, and leaned towards me.

"And you believe that one person is me?" Sherlock pointed out the basics quickly.

I coughed, stupid nervous habit, and muttered a yes, then backed away.

"Interesting." Sherlock said, returning to his mind.


	10. dodge-book

Sherlock slept very little that night, and kept making sure I was there. 

"John?" He asked, looking at me. 

"What?" I asked him, trying to figure out the man who was nothing but a whirlwind in legs.

"Did you have a storage unit... wait, of course you did! Your brother wouldn't get into it, because of his alcohol addiction!" 

"Brilliant, Sherlock!" I have him a smile.

"I got it right then?" Sherlock looked like a puppy waiting to be praised.

"No, I have a sister."

"Oh." It came out with a long breath.

"Yep." I coughed again. Stupid nervous habits.

"Then let's get your things." Sherlock jumped and reached for his coat and scarf.

"Sherlock, nothings open, it's three in the bloody morning." Sherlock looked at John, then sat back down.

"Right." He said then trying to concentrate.

I then sat attempting to move things with my mind when a deep baritone yelled "BORED!!!"

My mind sent books hurling towards Sherlock's face. 

Sherlock dodged them, then gave me a sarcastic grin. "More John, try and not be obvious about it either." I looked at him, mouth agape.

"You want me to hurl BOOKS at your FACE?" I looked at Sherlock in shock.

"Yes. Isn't it what I just insinuated? Do you have to be so dull?"

"I, well whenever you speak I hear 'hurl a book at my face' so this works."

"Please, John, stop being so mundane. I won't get bored."

I then took a copy of The Hobbit and launched it at his forehead. He dodged my attempt, then without warning ... to him, I sent large amounts of Shakespeare at him. It felt like a game, dodge-book. This made the idea of words flying around your head into a whole new concept. It ended with me striking his shoulder with the Canterbury tales.

"Good work, John, now tea?" Sherlock rubbed the shoulder.

"Yea, tea."


End file.
